


Mink

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Romance, literal fluff actually
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-09
Updated: 2013-10-09
Packaged: 2017-12-28 21:24:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/996866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>In this unseasonably chilly winter Sherlock had broke out the fur collar lining for his signature coat. He was always sparing with it- as dramatic as he may be, even he knew fur was a bit much. </i>
</p><p>We never do see enough of that collar, do we?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mink

“I’ve never seen you with that before,” John noted. Not 'Hello, you're back. I went into your room twice before I remembered.' Instead he appraised and observed. That was how you flirted with Sherlock Holmes.

In this unseasonably chilly winter Sherlock had broke out the fur collar lining for his signature coat. He was always sparing with it- as dramatic as he may be, even he knew fur was a bit much. It nestled his already pale face in a shelter of inky surrounding. Despite how cloistered the flip of his usual collar might seem, this addition still managed to be a step further than John expected. 

“ 'That' is hardly a useful descriptor, John,” Sherlock scolded as he shucked his gloves. He began to unwind the scarf at his throat when John suddenly found himself on his feet. 

“The collar, then. Looks...nice,” he offered. “Is it real?”

“Mink.”

Allowing himself to be drawn in, John stepped up to his notably missed flatmate/colleague/you-kissed-me-when-I-made-you-think-of-knitting-needles-as-murder-weapons-and-again-on-Tuesday. He afforded himself a little smile, “Now I'm even sorrier I didn't come with you, if you managed to look half this devastatingly decadent even a fraction of the time.” He trailed a fingertip into the soft pillow of shining hair. Another two fingers dipped in alongside, hand like a swimmer diving in waves. Fingers running against the grain of the fur, he didn’t stop until he finally met the differently silky curls at Sherlock's nape.

“I ought to have brought you. It was deadly dull,” He admitted. A soft peck. “I might have made some observations on your tactile fixations to pass the time.” He fixed John with a scrutinizing look.

“That'll teach you to hare off before I can get home.” As he teased, he worked the pads of his index and middle fingers against the hard splenis capitus muscle. Shut-eyed, Sherlock leaned into the motion. John wondered what it would be like to stretch him out on a hearth-side fur rug. This was all very new, after all. Slowly work apart every tense inch of body while they both melted into the pelage of a sleek and sturdy bearskin.

“John.”

Something about winter- perhaps the shorter days- made Sherlock like a crepuscular creature. He was all shining eye and burrows, hardly ever caught out in the open. There were very few opportunities to catch a quarry like Sherlock close eyed and relaxed. (He is never unaware). So John took onto the balls of his feet and met his lips to Sherlock's again. The bristle of pelt at his chin, he pressed his mouth to that which when speaking his name kindled warmth.

**Author's Note:**

> As a garment maker, I am well aware of the perils of the fur industry, and I am not condoning commercialization of luxury dead animals. Let's all be grown ups- this is a bit of fluff about a tactile fluffy moment.


End file.
